Dr. S.

I forgot I actually do have another hero or two: Dr. S being one of them. Even though, it turns out, he buys into the stereotype (can one even call it that?) that Jews are miserly. And I was talking about a fRENCH PERSON! But Dr. S is elderly; and from South India. And he meditates a lot. Still. Jews. And saying this to a German. Very uncomfortable. Kept thinking, to distract myself: 99 Cent Store. 99 Cent Store. 99 Cent Store. 99 Cent Store. 99 Cent Store.

My Dad

My Dad is my only hero. Because he truly doesn't care about what other people think. Restaurant critics, movie reviewers, experts on anything from children's literature to rose gardening. Once, I was meeting him downtown and as I approached, I saw him standing by a bench, completely un-self-conscious, like a wise little Zen master. His body language showed he was completely unaware of the effect of his body and angles and posture and shirt and shoes and his environment. I felt a tender twinge for this skinny leather skinned self-actualized man.

Hero

Where can I get a last-minute live serpent to drape around my neck for tomorrow's barbecue? And belladonna to enlarge my eyes? I actually have belladonna, but it's in little pellets. Maybe if I grind it up and dissolve it in water? But the snake remains a hurdle. You see, I have a new hero: No, not octomom. The Marchesa Casati!

Pure Drivel

Steve Martin is insane. And absurd. Like his friend said, one "a" short of being a Martian. In a good way. I think I have a new hero. Reading Shop Girl was pretty cool. But Pure Drivel is just crazy. I had to read aloud from it to A., who never laughs at anything I find funny (like New Yorker cartoons). A. said he's touring the US playing banjo now. Like I said. My new hero.